


Him

by Minirose96



Series: Virtual Connection [3]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: A machine's perspective, Acting, Computers, F/M, Not so artificial intelligence, So not a computer, Techie, a machine
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-28
Updated: 2014-07-01
Packaged: 2018-01-21 04:52:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1538282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Minirose96/pseuds/Minirose96
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>We've seen how a man falls in love with a false computer, only to have her snatched away, but how exactly does a young woman get talked into pretending to be a computer?<br/>This is Molly's tale of the events that transpired in "Her."<br/>This is the tale she tells Sherlock in the Hospital in "Them."<br/>This is Molly's story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Proposition

Molly never thought she'd find herself fired, especially not for something she hadn't even done. She never thought she'd be blamed for a crime she hadn't even committed by someone she considered her friend either. And yet, here she was, sitting in a small coffee shop, skimming through job opportunities because that was exactly what happened. One stupid lie had cost her the job she had had for years at Whitechurch Hospital in Cardiff.

The data had been off on several reports she had apparently been supervising. It wasn't her fault that her co-worker couldn't fill out reports correctly. It wasn't her fault that he had lied about her involvement with the documents. And yet, she was the one without a job, while her co-worker had taken her open position before her desk was cleared. She knew what it was: he had done it on purpose to get her position. It didn't help that they had been seeing each other against work policy for over a year. It had ended badly, more incentive to fuel the fire she supposed.

People were just so cruel sometimes. She had thought it had been love. She wasn't even sure what love was anymore. Certainly not that kind of relationship.

She was shaken from her thoughts when a young woman, texting on a smartphone, sat down in the seat across from her.

"You're Molly Hooper." It wasn't a question.

"How do you know my name?" Molly asked warily, looking around.

"My employer is interested in the possibility of you working for him for an undisclosed amount of time. Come with me." She didn't bother answering Molly's question, and as soon as she had finished talking, she was up again, heading for the door.

Molly was flabbergasted. Someone wanted to hire her with her new record? Though the circumstances certainly were strange. Who stalked their potential employees? Only one way to answer that. . .

Hoping she wasn't being led to her own funeral, she stood and followed the strange woman out, and then to a waiting car. Again, she looked around warily before entering it after the woman.

"What's your name?" Molly asked as the car started off. The windows were shaded, so she couldn't see much of anything through them. The whole situation was giving her the creeps.

"Hmmm. . . Anthea."

Molly got the feeling that that wasn't her real name, but she didn't press. She squirmed in her seat, wondering if it wasn't too late to bolt. The car's steady moving motion seemed to indicate as much.

She wasn't sure how long they drove, perhaps an hour, perhaps longer, but eventually they came to a stop, and her door was opened within seconds. A hand was offered to help her out of the vehicle, but she shook it off, stepping out and around the man before lingering awkwardly off to the side as the woman stepped out as well.

"This is Miss Hooper."

"Doctor. . ." she muttered, though Anthea showed no signs of having heard her. She led the way to a big, ostentatious office.

Molly glanced around the room curiously, not noticing as Anthea slipped back out of the door until it clicked behind her. She was left alone then, and suddenly nervous again, Molly took a seat to wait for. . . whatever might be about to happen.

Again, she found herself wondering if it was too late to run away.

Too late.

The door opened behind her, and she turned her head as another stranger entered, brown hair, tall, carrying an umbrella. He didn't bother looking at her until he was comfortably seated on the other side of the desk, but Molly kept her eyes trained on him anyway.

"Miss Hooper - "

"Doctor. . ." she corrected, immediately looking down as the man's gaze shifted into an even colder one. "Sorry."

"Doctor Hooper, I am Mycroft Holmes. I'm sure you're wondering why I've brought you here."

She nodded as he paused for her response, and gripped the edge of the seat cushion, her nails digging into the fabric. Finally, the reason she was brought here in the first place.

"As I'm sure my assistant has informed you, I have a job proposition for you." Mycroft began, folding his hands together on the desk. Very businesslike. He practically screamed 'I have too much power and authority.'

Molly didn't like it at all. Still, she'd hear him out. "What job? Why would you even consider me after. . ." she trailed off, looking down at her lap.  _After I was fired for supposedly damaging critical reports._

"Doctor Hooper, you and I both know that the errors were not your own."

Molly immediately looked up at him, the surprise clear on her face. "You. . . What's the job?" She asked again.

"The job, though not like your previous one, will require you to deal with a highly. . . eccentric individual. Quite simply, you're to assist my brother in an unorthodox manner for an undisclosed amount of time."

Confusion lit up in her eyes. It sounded like a glorified babysitting job. "Who's your brother?"

"Sherlock Holmes, of course."

Any response she might have had was lost to her when she heard that name. Sherlock Holmes? "Surely you can't be serious. How am I supposed to help him?" She asked, her voice high. She had begun following his blog long before now, ever since he was found to be alive. His story was fascinating.

Mycroft gave her a moment to process the little information he had given her before continuing on. "As I said, he needs an assistant. However, due to his unusual tendencies, I have devised a method by which he won't refuse, simply because he'll be curious."

"Wait, what are you talking about? Earlier you said you didn't know how long I'd be working. . . You've made it sound as though I'll be watching him for you. Isn't there someone more suited to that than me?"

"You'll be doing more than just watching him, Doctor Hooper. I've looked into your files and resume, and I find you are uniquely suited to my brother's needs. Your medical background will no doubt be useful for what is intended -"

"What is intended? You still haven't told me anything."

"I intend to present you as a computer program, an artificial intelligence system that Sherlock will no doubt find an anomaly."

A computer program. . . he was offering her a job as a computer program. The very idea was mental! It would never work, surely Sherlock Holmes, the brilliant consulting detective she had read about, wouldn't possibly fall for something like this. "How could that possibly work?"

Mycroft seemed to finally become a bit annoyed with her questions, if the slight tick in his jaw was anything to go by. "Leave the details to me Doctor Hooper. You're job is simply to assist."

"Why should I even take this job?" Though her cheeks were red from her own rudeness, she had to ask. It was just much too strange.

"I hold a minor position in the government." He began, "I can erase the misdemeanor on your record, even find you a better form of employment once the end of the arrangement has been reached."

This made Molly pause. A fresh start, a blank record. She could return to work with that, not have to worry about not finding a job because of something that wasn't her fault. All she had to do was help a stranger, someone she had looked up to for a long time. There was only one choice.

"All right, I'll do it."

"Very good Doctor Hooper, I knew you'd see reason. Your training begins tomorrow, my assistant will take you home."

"Training?" She asked, though her question was ignored. In an instant, the woman from earlier, Anthea, was by her seat, waiting for her to get up. Somewhat shell-shocked by the efficiency, Molly stood, and allowed herself to be led out to the waiting car.

_What have I gotten myself into?_


	2. The First Day

What have I gotten myself into?

That question ran through Molly's mind on more than one occasion after the day in Mycroft's office. Just as he said, the next evening Anthea was at her door to take her to a private lesson in everything computer related. While she had always been somewhat apt at computers, it quickly became apparent that she was just scratching the surface. They taught her the various ins and outs of a computer, then they switched to a very specific computer system. When asked why the change, she received only blank looks. The information, apparently, wasn't need to know. It was a bit over the top, honestly, how secretive everything was.

After a month in this routine of lessons and transporting to and from her flat, things changed a bit. Her guest bedroom was changed into a home office of sorts, all funded by Mycroft, and she was told, quite simply, to sit at the computer, headphones and mic on, and wait.

Though she didn't fully understand why, she did as she was told - perhaps this was the start of Mycroft's strange plan. Either way, it wasn't like she had anything else to do, so, with her faithful cat Toby curled up in her lap, she waited.

... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...

An hour passed. Nothing. Molly let out a loud yawn. Was this another lesson in patience or something? Because if so, she was about to fail.

Just as she was about to get up, she heard it -

"Mr. Sherlock Holmes, welcome to the world's first artificially intelligent operating system. We'd like to ask you a few questions." She looked at the computer, confused as it seemed to load up a file. Then, the screen opened up, and she could see him - Sherlock Holmes.

He was gorgeous in a way only men could be. The pictures that the newspapers used certainly didn't do his eyes or those bouncy curls justice. She wanted to touch them. Which immediately had her pulling her thoughts to an abrupt stop. No way Molly. You're a computer program, remember? No being attracted to the man who thinks you're a computer.

Sherlock practically reeked arrogance as he replied to the male monotone she had heard earlier. "What questions do you have for me?"

"Are you social, or Anti-social?" That voice, it could get annoying, Molly mused, though she stayed silent. It didn't seem like the right time to talk for the first time.

"I'm a high-functioning Sociopath." He certainly didn't act like a sociopath, based on what she had read about him.

"How would you describe your relationship with your mother?"

"What does that have to do with anything?"

"What do you do for a living?"

"I'm a consulting detective. I created the job. It entails me solving cases for various individuals."

He seemed so self-assured. Why did she have to watch him again, especially like this? Still, it was all for a good cause. Surely this arrangement wouldn't last too long. Soon, she'd be back in a hospital, doing her proper work. Yes, that's right. . . this was just temporary. She couldn't forget that.

"Thank you. Please wait as your operating system is initiated." After the male monotone spoke again, a pop-up appeared on her computer screen, effectively covering his face.

It read: It is time for you to begin your role Doctor Hooper. Your line: Hello, I'm here. Begin.

Having nothing else to say, she did as the screen instructed. "Hello, I'm here."

Immediately, the pop up closed, triggered by her voice, and She was met once more by Sherlock, frowning now.

"Hello."

Molly couldn't help but smile at his tone. He seemed just as confused as she felt. "Hi. I'm Molly." No stage name had ever really been chosen, and since her name was so common, she doubted it would hurt any to tell him her real name.

"That's a plain name, Molly." Molly frowned. That was incredibly rude, even if she was meant to just be a machine. He should have some manners.

"Molly's an acceptable name, to most."

He was actually a bit surprised when she spoke back to him. And Molly couldn't help but feel a bit smug. Good, maybe he wouldn't be so mean. She liked her name, thank you very much.

Of course, he was only phased for a second before speaking back very plainly. "I've told you what I do. Tell me how you can assist me."

This was something she'd practically been forced to memorize - Mycroft had known he'd ask something like this. Like the machine she was playing at, Molly recited the information. "You're a Consulting Detective. According to the databases available, you work with New Scotland Yard through a Mr. Gregory Lestrade to solve cases, usually murders, using a heightened awareness you call deduction. You also work freelance, taking cases from your blog and the blog of your associate, John Watson. Regarding your blog, I have the capabilities of running it and alerting you of any new cases, as well as storing and sorting information of value."

Molly could almost hear him thinking as he stared at her - no, at his computer, of course. She didn't even know what he saw, though it definitely wasn't actually her.

"If you can find information, locate the Bermuda Case file." That was a challenge, she could tell. Mycroft had also warned about this, but she was ready. Part of the programming between the two computers, as far as she could figure out, was to handle such things. She typed in a quick sentence on a toolbar search, and thankfully, the correct file came up.

"I assure you, I'm quite skilled. " She couldn't help it - sure, she hadn't been the one to find the file per-say, but just to see him a bit frazzled was worth it. Multiple times, he asked her to shut down and open other folders, files, websites, until he seemed to just be picking things at random. Each time, with the program in front of her, Molly was able to efficiently pull up the right file. It was a bit annoying, to be honest, but she had been warned.

A little pop-up icon appeared on her computer. Email from Lestrade. Since she didn't know a Lestrade, she guessed it was for Sherlock - maybe another add on of the program that linked the computers? Still, if it brought an end to this stupid questioning, she'd welcome it. "Sherlock, I believe I've proved myself. You received an email moments ago from Lestrade. Would you like me to pull it open for you?"

"No." Molly was taken aback by the anger in his voice, and even more so when he slammed his laptop shut. He had left it on though, so she could still access files.

Good, maybe now she could get some work done - Mycroft had said she would have to organize things, so she did just that - organized. Maybe if she continued to show her worth, Sherlock wouldn't get so testy. She couldn't go and get the linking program deleted either - Mycroft had warned that that was an immediate termination of their deal. He had to be the one to withdraw the offer, or she had to no longer be what he deemed necessary for it to be fulfilled.

... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...

Molly had been tapping her foot with impatience, waiting for Sherlock to open the laptop again for some time now after she finished organizing the computer. It should have been a boring task, but on all accounts, skimming the different cases had been fascinating. She'd heard about some of them online, but to read his actual notes. . . it was absolutely fantastic. She'd even managed to find a sort of rhyme and reason to each of the reports. It had honestly been fun, though usually she despised desk work.

Still, now the waiting was getting to her. She muted her microphone, and got up to stretch her legs and get a cup of tea. As soon as she exited the computer room, Toby was at her heels, whining, and she giggled. "I know, silly boy, I haven't filled your bowl yet, you must be starving." She cooed, walking to the kitchen to fill up his food and water dish. Immediately, she was ignored in favor of the kibble, and she set her kettle to boil.

Ten minutes and a cup of Earl Grey in hand later, she returned to the room, and was immediately met with Sherlock's gaze. Well, his gaze through the computer camera, anyway.

She set the cup aside, and quickly pulled on her headset before sitting down to begin again. "Welcome back Sherlock! Since you left me behind, I thought it might be a good idea to straighten up a bit. The desktop and files were so cluttered. How could you find anything?" She teased him, smiling. She sincerely hoped he liked the changes.

Of course, he wasn't His gaze shifted into a glare, and she shrunk in her seat as he spoke, well, more like scolded, "What have you done to my files?" Oh, definitely not happy.

"I told you silly, I straightened them up." She replied, giggling nervously, a horrible habit of hers, and certainly not helpful now, considering he only seemed to get angrier.

"When I find your damned folder, I will delete you." There was a clear promise in his voice, and she shrunk back further, especially since the file wasn't even hidden, it was just under her symbol, out of the way.

But, funnily enough, he didn't think to look there. He flicked through every single file, going through every little document and computer program, but he never found it. Molly couldn't tell if he was getting angrier or calming down, because his face had gone blank. It was almost more nerve-wracking than when he was visibly angry.

When he closed the last file, and shoved the computer away to cross his arms in front of his chest, she still hadn't spoken a word. She certainly wasn't going to tell him where the linking file was.

"Where are you?" The question was cold, as she had expected, and her response was hesitant despite herself. Perhaps she should just stop this foolish charade now.

But she wasn't a quitter, and since some divine intervention had stopped him from finding it, she decided to just speak her mind, honestly. "I, I don't want to be. . ." What would a computer say? It was so difficult to pretend to be not human, "deleted. Please, I'll put everything back. Just give me a chance."

After she finished talking, she waited again. Either he'd demand her to tell her where the program was - the likely choice, as far as she could tell - or. . . maybe he'd not. Yeah, right. She looked down at her lap, and waited for the order. No doubt she hadn't been expected to last anyway.

"Leave it." Her gaze raised, and for just a second, she almost thought he could see her, the real her, through the screen as he continued. "Your organizational skills are above par, and it will prove useful, once you explain in full detail how you've chosen to file everything."

A compliment. She knew one when she heard one, and it caused her to blush. "You're not going to get rid of me?" Immediately, she winced at her blurted question. Stupid, Molly, why couldn't you just -

"No, I'm not going to delete you. Explain how you've divided everything." Her thoughts were cut off by his words.

Explain. He wanted her to explain. She smiled. She could do that.

And she did, bringing him through every file she'd made. She got the notion that he had already picked up on everything she was explaining when he went through the files the first time, but that didn't matter. He seemed intrigued all the same as she brought each point up, so she continued talking, smiling and growing more confident. She could even imagine he looked pleased with her actions.

When she finished, there was another small silence. She didn't mind this one nearly as much as the other ones.

"How much can you take in from a camera?"

Molly frowned. It was definitely an odd question, and it took a little fumbling for her to come up with something that didn't seem too descriptive for a computer to come up with. It was so hard, trying to imagine what a computer would do and say.

"Well. . . I can see that you're in a purple shirt, and black slacks. You're hair his dark and curly, and it looks soft." Again, she blushed, and let out a short nervous giggle. She hadn't meant to say that out loud, it had just popped into her head. Still, now that she thought about it, it really did look soft. . . Woah, no, bad. You're a computer to him, he doesn't even know you exist. No finding the man attractive.

"What else?"

She shook herself from her mental argument, and began again, this time paying attention to the room and not the man - as hard as that was now that she had paid attention to him. "The room is messy. It should be cleaned a bit more often. I can tell there's a violin leaning against the leg of the chair - I noticed it earlier - and there's a skull in the mantle place, male, between the ages of seventy-five and eighty."

Apparently, her answer pleased him, because in another instant, he was plugging in his phone, and asking how to link it to the program. She'd been told that if he accepted her, he'd want to do that. She barely suppressed a relieved sigh before volunteering to do it herself. By do it herself, she meant press another button on her side of the connection, and let an actual computer program handle all the work.

A few moments later, a new screen had appeared on her computer, that looked like a basic cellphone. A message popped up as well, reading, Link complete. Press call and speak.

She followed the directions, and watched curiously through the laptop camera as he unplugged the phone, and answered.

"I'm here." she said instantly, smiling.

He smirked. He actually smirked, and the expression had her doing a happy little dance in her seat. She'd actually gotten something other than a glare or a blank face. "I noticed. Good, you may be useful on cases. I doubt you'll mind the carnage, so I won't have to worry about dragging you away from the worst scenes."

"Of course not!" She said excitedly, eager to see him work for real. She'd loved the files, and, also, she missed working with the corpses in a sterile lab. Even if it wasn't the same, at least she could still stay connected to her chosen profession. "I've read your other reports, they're brilliant. I would love to see how you work."

He hung up the phone, and the phone on her screen went into the tab bar as he looked directly into the camera. She felt so exposed, and giddy at the same time as he spoke.

"You will. For now, I'm turning off the computer. Since you're now on my phone, I don't want to be disturbed until morning. Are we clear?"

"Yes Sherlock. I'll see you in the morning." she said, grinning. It was almost like he was saying good night, in a way, so she said it as well. "Good night."

His lip quirked just slightly. Molly barely saw it, and couldn't even be sure it had happened, considering a second later, the laptop was shut, and she was alone again, for the rest of the night apparently.

She stood, and picked up her tea, sipping at the cool liquid as she left the room. She went to the kitchen, set the cup in the sink, and called for Toby as he went to her room to take a much needed rest. Apparently her body had decided that doing computer work was tiring, especially when you had to do it while trying to keep the world's only consulting detective in a relatively good mood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! I hope you've enjoyed this second chapter because...
> 
> (Sorry!)  
> It's going to be a while before the next update -But rosey, it's already been two months before this update, how much longer will you make us wait for the next one? - the answer is a bit difficult. I'm putting this story on hiatus until I finish a few of my other WIPS, such as Them - definitely - and Possessive Tendencies - maybe. The reasoning behind this is because this story is a retelling, you guys - probably - know how this ends. Unless you didn't read Her, in which case... sorry! But I really want to focus on my other stories before this one.
> 
> Don't worry, this isn't the end of Him!


End file.
